


No More

by HobbitLife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Blood, Heavy Angst, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobbitLife/pseuds/HobbitLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU-A twist on the Reichenback Fall. Sherlock and John decide to take revenge against those who they feel have done them wrong. Basically our dynamic duo turn to the dark side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be graphic in some cases in terms of violence and such so I will warn you now. They will be a bit OOC but it still works. If this is my your cup of tea then don't read. If you're interested then continue. This is not Brit-picked and I have no Beta. So any mistakes in grammar and spelling is mine.

Boom!

The sound of the gun in Moriarty's hand exploded with gun powder and blood stained the now dead criminal's body. Sherlock stood back and jumped when the gun went off. But it wasn't the sudden suicide of his rival that stunned and angered the consulting detective.

It was what was said before that was making his blood boil.

_'It was all planned out!' Moriarty cackled loudly. 'I made it all out to make you dance. You love to be the clever one so I gave you lineage. You are just a child that is so easily twisted and used. I'm just one of the many others who have succeeded in getting their way by manipulating your so called 'genius.''_

_'What are you taking about?' Sherlock had sneered._

_'Please! Your brother tricks you into doing his bidding by recruiting your skills. Then the good Yard can't take one case on their own without calling you because it's easier for them to have you solve it and they get the credit. Not to mention the people of this city sees you as a freak. You and John are just pawns in this pathetic world. And you call yourself a smarter man than the common folk. You are no better then them.'_

It was after that quick conversation that Moriarty announced his end and shot himself.

Everything he said, all those things were true. Sherlock Holmes was manipulated by his own friends and family. He had been for years it seemed. This new epiphany enraged Sherlock more than anything else in the world.

And even more so that it involved his beloved John. His lover and only person who never called him a freak, that never used him for his intellect. Now, he did see that sometimes people would use John's kindness to make him do things for others or convince Sherlock to do certain things too. But the doctor didn't know he was being used. No he was too kind to notice such a thing.

It had to end.

Everything had to end.

"Sherlock!" The scream of his beloved boyfriend snapped Sherlock out of his raging daze as he turned to the door to the roof and watched as John enter the rooftop with him. "Sherlock! I was so worried..." he stopped as he noticed the dead body of Jim Moriarty.

"Oh good god," John whispered.

"He's not our problem anymore John," Sherlock said calmly.

"Well...I can see that."

"We have a bigger problem."

"And that is?"

"Everyone else."

John's head snapped up from looking at the corpse on the cold roof. "What do you mean?"

"John," Sherlock began, "before Moriarty died, I seemed to have had an epiphany concerning my usage towards London. That I have been...manipulated by my peers."

"You mean Mycroft and Lestrade and everybody else? You see it now?"

Sherlock's eyes widened. "You...knew? How long?"

"Oh love," John walked forward a little closer to his boyfriend. "I've always known. It was so obvious since the day we had our first case together. I only thought you were aware of it but ignored it."

"I never knew," the detective muttered, his hands curled into fists and shaking uncontrollably. If there was one thing Sherlock hated more than dumb people, it was people who used him.

John sensed his distress and closed the gap between them and embraced him. He hated seeing Sherlock so upset and he hated everyone who have made fun of him, took advantage of his lover's brilliant mind. He had put up with all the insults and smugness for so long.

"This has to stop," John murmured. "You don't deserve to be used like you do."

"I agree. And neither do you. This must come to an end," Sherlock said in his ear. "And I know what to do."

"What?" the doctor asked.

Sherlock broke away from John's arms and walked over to the dead body both had conveniently forgotten about. Bending down, he picked up the now bloody gun and held it in his hands like it was glass. He stood back up and looked at his boyfriend.

"No more being the good guys. No more of anything." Sherlock smirked. John looked at the gun then back at Sherlock, then smiling evilly in agreement.

It seemed that the two lovers finally had the same idea in mind. And both their eyes went black with rage and delight.

XXXXXXXX

"Brother I understand you lack the patience to answer the phone when somebody calls but when that somebody is me, you answer immediately!" Mycroft was pacing in circles in his office, yelling into his phone after reaching Sherlock's voicemail for the third time. "Call me Sherlock and tell me what has become of this problem!" He hung up the phone in aggravation and stopped in his pacing.

It had been three hours since he had left his younger brother at Bart's to deal with the master criminal Moriarty. But then he received word from DI Lestrade his brother was not at the hospital anymore and nobody knew where he had gone. Moriarty was dead and his brother was missing. Frankly, Mycroft was worried about Sherlock because he was aware of what his brother could do.

But he decided to push that feeling away and approached his desk and sat down. He leaned back and sighed, closing his eyes as he did.

"Relaxed there brother mine?"

The man jumped in his chair and opened his eyes to see Sherlock himself, propped up against the wall.

"Where have you been Sherlock?" Mycroft demanded.

"Here, there," he motioned his hands around carelessly. "No where really important."

"Well good to know that you're taking this so splendidly. Considering that Moriarty has been taken care of once and for all. Now what about the plans he made?"

"Plans?" Sherlock pushed himself off the wall. "What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly," Mycroft rolled his eyes. "How he broke into all three places at the same time and any plans he had for future heists. Surely you didn't waste your brain on being clever as usual."

"Oh of course not!" Sherlock exclaimed in mock shock. "But it's not his plans I have uncovered or have knowledge of."

"Oh? And what plans have you knowledge of then?"

"Mine."

Mycroft suddenly felt a hand around his neck and one on his mouth. Both pressed down hard, keeping him in his chair and unmoving except for his struggles. He tried to move his hands to get his phone that he had placed in front him when he sat down to call Anthea.

"I wouldn't bother Myc, she can't help you."

That voice. John Watson.

But that was impossible. He wouldn't dare to...

"Yes he would actually," Sherlock said. He started to approach the desk where his older brother struggled against the army doctor to no effect. "You see, we've both grown tired of people like you who see us as pawns to use and control based on who we are. So, we'll be putting an end to that today. Starting with the British government itself." Sherlock sat in front of Mycroft, staring him down. He just stared back in horror and realization of where the detective was going with this.

"You know," Sherlock picked up a medium sized letter opener and twiddled with it in his fingers, "I didn't want it to be this way. But all these years of the constant monitoring, nagging, and ordering around have really tampered with any affection I could have held for you. Mummy won't be pleased with the death of her son."

And as quick as a flash, Sherlock placed his own hand on Mycroft's nose and on his mouth as John took his own hand away and now had both on his neck and squeezed. He could feel his brother gasp and strained to breath in his hand.

It only took a few minutes before the struggles died...as did Mycroft. His now dead eyes were kept on Sherlock the whole time up until that moment.

Both men released their grasp on the man and watched as the head limply fell to the left. And they were shaking in anticipation. John was used to death given his time in the military and Sherlock based on the many cases that involved seeing people die or dying. But nothing could compare to this. Holding a life and then taking it was...a sense of adrenaline.

"I can't believe we did that," John whispered. Sherlock looked up and stared at his doctor. Then both men began laughing, harder and harder in a matter of seconds. "I can't believe we did that!" he said again but with enthusiasm in his voice.

"Me neither," Sherlock shook his head, "It's done. He can no longer harass us. We're free!" He walked behind the chair and kissed his boyfriend passionately which was returned.

When they stopped, both were breathing heavily. "Now no one can stop us from getting revenge," John murmured huskily.

"Yes. But we still have a few more to take care of."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the true inner demons reveal themselves and blood will be spilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty graphic in violence so best to know now. And there is some words that will be used that may be offensive. Heads up. I still don't own Sherlock or its characters.

_Reports say that Mycroft Holmes was attacked in his office and killed there within minutes. No witnesses have come forward with information nor any leads for the police..._

Lestrade turned off the tv, not able to bare hearing the story of the elder Holmes' death. He rubbed his face in his hands and say back into his couch. It had been two days since the body of Mycroft Holmes was found by his assistant Anthea who was sent home early by her boss that day. He felt horrible for the man's death but felt even worse for his brother Sherlock. He had gone to 221B to deliver the news and was surprised by the cold demeanor he had showed. But not so much as how John reacted, which was the same thing. Only Mrs. Hudson had shown the proper reaction for hearing the death of a loved one, shots and all.

Why had Sherlock and John acted so odd?

He had never seen either of them act like that before and certainly didn't expect to see that as he delivered the news of Mycroft's death. Both did have different coping skills but this was just not tight. It was peculiar to the DI and it made his brain hurt with confusion.

**Knock knock knock.**

He jumped at the knocking at his flat door.

_Who could that be? I'm not expecting anyone._

Lestrade stood up from his couch, stretched and walked to the door. And as he opened it, he was surprised to see who was behind the door.

"Sherlock! John! What a surprise!" he greeted. "What brings you two by?"

The couple stood outside the door, wearing identical frowns.

"We needed some time away from the flat," John said in a monotone voice. "With Mycroft's...death things have been difficult. I thought maybe some company would do. But I know this is probably a bad time..."

"No of course it's fine! Please come in you two," Lestrade stepped aside and allowed the two men to enter his home. They had come by before unannounced plenty of times so this didn't really surprise the officer. Sherlock and John entered and both immediately sat on the couch, curling up into the other in an comforting embrace.

"I am still so sorry about your loss Sherlock," the DI closed the door as he spoke and walked over to them. "We're doing all we can to find whoever did this."

"Not enough," Sherlock snarled.

"Love," John reprimanded softly. "It's ok."

"I swear Sherlock we are. Can I offer you two a drink?"

"Water please," John said.

"Brandy if you have any," Sherlock said after a moment.

He nodded and entered the kitchen to prepare the drinks, grabbing glasses and his bottle of brandy he kept on hand. As he filled one glass with water and another with brandy, he pondered about his unexpected guests.

_They probably need some form of comfort or want answers about the murder. I can give them as much as I can but I don't know how much that will be._

He picked up the filled glasses and walked back into the living room. When he did, he found that only Sherlock sat on the couch and John was no where to be seen.

"Went to the loo," Sherlock knew he was wondering where John had gone so he saved him the trouble of asking.

Lestrade nodded and handed him his brandy. He took a sip from his own glass of water before sitting down in front of the man. "You know I'm trying my best to find out who did this."

"Well you're not doing enough are you DI?" Sherlock snapped.

"What do you want from me, Sherlock?! There was no evidence of an invasion or fingerprints on anything! And you refuse to check the crime scene yourself so I don't know what you want me to do," he said.

Sherlock began to look content in his spot on the couch. He took a long swig of his brandy before staring at Lestrade. "Well, there is one thing you can do," he smiled.

_Since when does..._ Greg's thought process was interrupted when he felt the sensation of cold metal being pressed against his right temple.

"Take out your phone," he heard John say beside him. "Call Donovan and Anderson. Tell them to meet you at the abandoned warehouse off of the northern docks."

"John?" Lestrade dared to say.

"Shut up and do it!" John yelled.

The DI jumped a little at the shout but did as he was told. As he did, he snuck a look at Sherlock and was shocked at what he saw.

He was sitting there, practically bouncing in his spot, smiling giddily like a child at Christmas.

It made his heart clench to see the man like that, let alone allowing his boyfriend to threaten him.

As he heard his phone ring on the other end, Lestrade could only imagine what was about to happen when this call was done.

"Yes, Donovan, I need you and Anderson down at the northern side of the docks downtown. No just you two, it's just an inspection I need done." He looked to John as he spoke and watched him mouth 'one hour'. "Meet me there in an hour. Good, see you then." Reluctantly, he hung up the phone and placed it onto Sherlock's outstretched hand.

"Can't have you calling for help can we?" Sherlock asked.

"Why?" Lestrade questioned. "What are you doing?"

"Taking back our lives by taking out what makes it a living hell," John walked around and sat beside Sherlock. He turned his head and smiled at his doctor then kissed his cheek.

"What are you talking about?"

"So many years we've known each other dear DI," Sherlock carelessly swung his leg over the other as he talked. "So many cases and you calling upon me for 'advice' and 'help'. But that's not what it was. It was you using me for my intellect and then taking the credit for yourself!"

"No! I've never done that! I'd never do that!"

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" Sherlock shouted, standing up. "For too long you've used me. Just like Mycroft did. Well, I'm putting a stop to it."

The realization dawned upon the man with a cold horror. _Just like Mycroft **did**..._

"Tell me you didn't kill him, Sherlock," he muttered.

"And if I tell you I did?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"God," he moaned. "He was your brother!"

"He only saw me as a tool as you do. Did more like it."

Lestrade shook his head furiously. "No no no. John, please. I thought we were mates?" he practically pleaded for the former army doctor to help him at that point.

"We were until I could see the manipulation going on," John shrugged his shoulders. He handed the gun over to his boyfriend then got out of his seat. "I'll be outside love." After a quick peck, John left the flat, leaving the fate of DI Lestrade to Sherlock Holmes.

The moment the door to his flat closed, Lestrade could feel his heart fall to his feet as he awaited his soon-to-be execution. He knew how this was going to end and knew there was no plea he could make that would deter the consulting detective.

Sherlock sighed, stood up and walked over to the DI. Holding the gun up to his forehead, he noted that the man was shaking.

"Oh come now," Sherlock pouted. "Die with dignity, not trembling like a child."

One silent bullet shot later, Greg Lestrade slumped over to the side of his armchair, dead. A dark red hole in his forehead and a small steam of blood slowly streaking down and onto the carpet. His eyes were still open, wide and glassy.

If you looked close enough, you could easily say that they still shine with fear of his upending death.

Sherlock smiled and released a breath he didn't even realize he was holding in. Tucking the gun in his trench coat pocket, he left the flat and the corpse behind him.

_Hope John called the cab. We have one last appointment to attend to._

XXXXXXX

Donavan and Anderson stood beside their respective cars waiting for their boss to show up.

"He did say the northern side of the docks and not the southern right?" Anderson asked.

"He said northern in an hour," Donovan replied.

"Well where is he then?"

"How should I know?" Donovan said. "He said he'd be here so we'll wait here until he shows up."

The forensic sighed and leaned against the car door in irritation.

"Good evening."

A deep baritone voice caused them both to jump and caused Donovan to shriek. They watched as they saw Sherlock and John approach them from behind.

"Great, he called in the freaks of nature," Anderson snickered. Donovan smiled knowingly then turned her attention to their unwanted guests.

"What could he possibly need your help with, freak?" Donovan said to the consulting detective.

Sherlock began to chuckle. "Oh Lestrade didn't call for us. We're here on our own accord."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Anderson asked.

"Oh I'd be nice if I were you," Sherlock tsked.

"Or what? What are you going to do? Sick your homo boyfriend on us?" he laughed. John smiled a tight smile that sent chills down Donovan's spine. Something wasn't right here.

"Philip," she muttered. "I'd stop if I were you. Something's wrong."

"Yeah something's wrong here. We've got London's craziest men on the case!" Anderson laughed. "But in all seriousness, where is Lestrade?"

"He's not coming," John said. "He's been...indisposed."

"But he was the one who..."

"He's not coming," John began to slowly walk towards them. "He's not coming to help you." He whipped out the gun Sherlock gave back to him and pointed at them. When Donovan and Anderson both reached for their own guns, he shot one bullet at them but only hit the car window. They stopped in their actions and raised their hands up in surrender.

"Take off your belts and hand them over," Sherlock said, joining side-by-side with his boyfriend.

They begrudgingly did as he said and handed over their weapons and means of calling for backup to their captors. Sherlock took one of the guns and tossed the rest away from the group. He then used his new weapon to point it at Donovan and Anderson.

"Walk," he ordered. They walked away from the cars a few feet before they were told to stop. "Get on your knees."

They once again did as they were told and got on their knees.

"Hands on your heads," John ordered, following Sherlock closely.

"I knew you were a psychopathic freak," Donovan sneered.

"Shut up you whore," John cocked his gun and pressed it against the back of her head. He reveled in the fear she was displaying the moment the gun touched her skin. "You'll never say another word about my love ever again. It's people like you that don't deserve to live. So I guess I'll play God."

John pulled the trigger and unleashed his wrath upon her. Bullet after bullet entered her body, holes in her head and back showed the numerous shots he fired. She was dead after the third bullet, blood slowly pooling underneath her fallen body.

Anderson just watched in horror as she died, her body splayed out as Donovan was executed before his eyes. Yes, executed is the perfect word for this action.

"Don't think you'll be getting off that easily Anderson," Sherlock sneered. He walked around him and kneeled down until they were face to face. "You've angered me for the last time. No more of your feeble attempts to be better than me. No more insulting me or my John. So, any last words Anderson?"

Oh he did. Anderson could only say one thing. "Freak," he mumbled before he spat into Sherlock's face.

When the saliva landed on his face, Sherlock's eyes went black with rage. But instead of shooting the forensic, he tossed the gun aside and produced a knife from an inside coat pocket.

"I'm going to enjoy ending you," he snarled before stabbing the man in the chest.

The force of the stab caused Anderson to fall back and scream. But that didn't stop Sherlock, he just kept stabbing into his body. Stab after stab, Sherlock just kept Anderson in place. It was probably a five or ten minutes later when he finally stopped and observed his work.

Anderson was definitely dead. Bloody stab wounds covered most of the body, even on his face. Sherlock had been so consumed by his hatred toward the man he had lost track at how many times he had actually stabbed the forensic.

He took deep breaths since it had taken the wind out of him before standing up and facing John. Sherlock was covered in blood but he smiled despite it.

"It's all over," Sherlock laughed, tears beginning to form in his eyes. "They're all gone."

"Yes," John breathed. "It's over. Now back home to bask in our blissful paradise."

"And to have our happily ever after," Sherlock smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post the next part as soon as I like how it's turning out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. This is the last chapter for this story. I can't believe how many people like this! It shocked me when I first published it and it had so many hits within a short amount of time. But I'm going to stop talking now and give you the ending I finished.

When they arrived back at 221B, they each fell onto their respective bed, feeling the sense of relief. All their problems were gone.

No more manipulation.

No more insults, being taken for granted.

But more importantly; no more chains.

"It's over," John had breathed when they laid down. "We're free."

"At long last," Sherlock joined him in bed and snaked his arms around John's waist. He hugged him tight as the tears fell out of his eyes and onto his pillow. He had never felt such a relief in his life.

"We're free Sherlock," John petted his soft black curls. "We can finally live our own lives."

"For now."

John stopped his petting and stared at his boyfriend. "What do you mean?"

"John," Sherlock propped himself up with his elbows, "it's only a matter of time before people realize who killed them all. That we had a real reason for wanting them dead. I estimate we have only a couple of days before the finger gets pointed at us, metaphorically speaking."

John sighed and groaned loudly before punching the pillow. Of course he hadn't thought of that. He was pretty sure Sherlock hadn't thought of that too until probably moments ago. They may have left no evidence that it was the lovers who did these terrible deeds but they had plenty of motive and many people have seen it firsthand. And they had plenty of enemies who would be more than happy to give the police the evidence needed to arrest them.

Then go to jail and possibly be given the death sentence.

Separating John Watson and Sherlock Holmes forever.

John couldn't help the tears from pouring down his cheeks. They would only have a few days of freedom until the law would come and take his love away from him.

"No! They'll take us away! We'll be parted forever!" John cried.

Sherlock laid back down and attempted to comfort his boyfriend. He hugged him around the waist and softly rubbed his arm as John cried.

"Maybe not," the detective whispered. "I may have a plan to make sure they never take us away."

              XXXXXXXXXX

And Sherlock ended up being right.

Two weeks later, police had gathered evidence of how Greg Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson and Mycroft Holmes had all died. Or more of who had killed them all. But when the papers finally came through for the arrests of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, the police had made they way to Baker Street.

But all they found was an unconscious Mrs. Hudson and an empty flat above her.

Nothing was taken, it was as clean as a whistle. So that left the question as to where they were.

               XXXXXXXX

John had known that Sherlock was right when he said they would eventually be caught. So, together they came up with a plan to make sure they never were.

The idea of leaving London was out of the question. 'That only leaves the high chance of being found out eventually' the detective had pointed out.

Hiding or using old connections to change their identities wouldn't help either. Sherlock had his underground connections but they could be easily corrupted by the promise of money.

So they came to a decision on how to stay together forever without the rest of the world on their tails.

When Sherlock had mentioned on what to do with Mrs. Hudson and Molly, John refused to have either of them killed.

'Mrs. Hudson and Molly have done so much for us love,' John said, 'Those two have been the only people who has ever been kind to us and genuinely mean it.'

Sherlock was a little reluctant but agreed with his boyfriend and decided to instead give her a heavy dose of sleeping pills so she wouldn't get involved in their plan. So, the day they were supposed to be arrested, John had gone downstairs to have tea with their landlady. An hour later, he had come back up with a nod and the lovers left their flat.

A short cab ride later found them outside of St. Bart's. When they entered the labs in the upper floors where Molly worked, she was there to greet them. Unaware of their plan, she welcomed them warmly inside.

"Hello Sherlock, John," Molly said. "What can I do for you?"

"Do you still have the key to the elevator that leads to the roof?" John asked.

"Yeah," she pulled out the card she kept around a key chain attached to her belt. "But I was told to keep it on hand and not give it to anyone. I'm sorry guys but I can't give it to you."

Sherlock sighed. "I had a feeling you would say that. Not that I blame you but that does make this a bit harder. Goodbye Molly."

Molly raised an eyebrow at Sherlock's strange words and was about to acknowledge her confusion when a large hand was placed over her mouth and nostrils. She could feel a cloth on her lips and the odor of chloroform could be smelled immediately. Molly struggled as John kept his grip on her tight. She knew what was going on but could not voice her words as the world around her went black.

Gently lowering Molly down, John pulled the keycard off of the keychain and waved it in front of his boyfriend.

"And now we officially have no one who can stop us now."

With that, they walked to the elevator down the hall and rode up to the roof of the hospital. When they got there, they walked out into the open air and embraced the late afternoon sunlight. Below laid London's busy streets, full of people going about their own business.

"It makes me sick," Sherlock muttered. "Seeing them all...normal."

"I'm normal," John said. "Do I make you sick?"

"Of course not," Sherlock embraced his boyfriend and kissed him lightly on the lips. "You make me feel wonderful. You're the only one I have ever and will ever love."

They kissed again but with more passion and heat than before. They had already...gone onto the next step the night before so it wasn't as intense.

When it was done, they broke apart and stared at each other with love blazing in their eyes.

"Are you ready?" John asked.

"Yes," Sherlock nodded.

Together, they each pulled out a gun from their coat pockets. Raising them both slowly, each pointed them at the other's temple. Immediate death was the best way to ensure their forever after.

"I love you," as John's last words.

"I love you too," was Sherlock's before both pulled their triggers.

Two loud bangs went off and two dead bodies collapsed upon the other, John above Sherlock. It was said that their bodies were laying, it almost appeared like they were embracing one last time. That even in death they still needed the other in their arms.

And it was on the roof of St. Bart's that two men had once turned a new page in their lives then took them away.

Where it all once began, there it was finished.

**Fin**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for bookmarking and reviewing! It means a lot to me. I hope others who haven't read it will and like it. But don't worry, you haven't seen the last of me.

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! Even if it's criticism I'd appreciate it. Or to tell me if something is wrong with it (grammar/spelling). I will update as fast as I can, it all depends if life is going to be nice to me.


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